


Selfish and Obscene

by crystalrequiem



Category: Mystery Skulls Animated
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, I am at least a little sorry, Lots of Cursing, M/M, Masturbation, Oneshot, PWP, Pining, Pre-Cave, Pre-OT3, Some serious feels, The Full Sex, admittedly, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 02:06:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12288945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalrequiem/pseuds/crystalrequiem
Summary: They're all adults here, and Vivi and Lewis have been together for a long time. It still aches at night, but he's getting used to it. He knows, academically, that they're... uh... active. He's getting used to that too. But he's never been forced to think about it quite like this.Next time they spring for a motel, he's asking for a room on the other side of the goddamn building. Why are the walls so thin?!





	Selfish and Obscene

**Author's Note:**

> So. Uh. I was trying to do a song-meme writers' block thing, and THIS bullshit happened when Miike Snow's Genghis Khan popped into my songlist. 
> 
> I lay this first attempt at pwp humbly at your feet. Toss me a comment if you're in the mood. Always appreciated.

 

*Edit: Oh hey. What do you know. It's Inktober.  
Have an NSFW illustration for the road:  
http://crystalrequiem.tumblr.com/post/166162474921/so-this-inktober-goin-for-my-first-attempt-at

Sadly, You'll have to copy paste that link, because I can't format AO3 links for the life of me. 

  
 

* * *

 

Arthur knows he shouldn’t feel this kind of… envy. He doesn’t even know who to be envious of. It’s ridiculous. He knows they’re happy this way. He wants the best for _both_ of them, so why—

He knows why. He selfishly, stupidly wanted… Well. It doesn’t matter what he wanted.

Mystery whines at him from his spot on the floor, and Arthur reaches out a hand to soothe him. Poor guy. He probably doesn’t like sleeping away from Vivi. It isn’t usually a problem. They always used to share a single hotel room between the four of them, if they ever actually sprang for a place to stay. Single room, two queen beds. But now….

Arthur listens to the carefully hushed sounds on the other side of the thin, motel wall and tries to convince his traitorous heart that this motel is _haunted._

He hears a soft, startled, “ _Viv_ ,” and he buries his burning face in the mattress. It’s haunted, for sure. There’s a ghost calling her name in the night, and it’s not Lewis falling apart beneath her hands.

He hears a laugh, threaded with _heat_ , and tries to suffocate himself with the pillow. There’s a ghost mocking them. It’s playing tricks at their expense, and Vivi certainly isn’t gazing into Lewis’s eyes with _that look_ , mouth quirked in a teasing smile, one hand threaded in his hair and the other—

His thoughts shut down at the sound of a choked moan, quickly stifled. Arthur’s ears burn red. He wonders if he can mercifully, spontaneously combust.

Mystery huffs, a strange, un-dog-like sound, and picks himself up off the carpet. Arthur’s too embarrassed to take the pillow off his face, but he can hear the far-too-intelligent dog plodding his way toward the bathroom. Mystery’s collar jingles, his claws scratch at wood, and the bathroom door clicks softly shut. Maybe even the dog could be affected by the sounds of—the haunting sounds from next door. Arthur wishes forlornly that he’d thought of hiding there first.

The bed next door creaks, and he’s _got_ to be imagining it, but he thinks he can hear the sound of them moving. Lewis’s breath stutters, he muffles a groan and then…

God, why does it sound like they’re _right there_ , and why is it driving him so crazy? He’s losing himself to the very idea of them. He can deny and try to blank it out all he likes, but he _knows_ , and it’s sending him spiraling into madness. He can _see_ it; Vivi’s hands are splayed across Lewis’s toned chest, her thighs bracing his hips. Lewis has one arm thrown across his face, trying to keep from making noise, but the other is clutching at her back, her hair, whatever he can hold on to as she rolls and writhes. They’ve just started and she’s just _teasing_ , letting him feel that delicious friction.

Holy _shit_ , he can’t do this right now. Arthur kicks his blankets off and shoots to his feet. He can—he can just go out to the van. He can head down and sleep there tonight. It’s pretty cold out, but right now, he thinks he can weather just about anything. Anything at all has to be less painful than this. He’s searching out his shoes, reaching for the door when he realizes… they’re going to ask why he left in the morning. They’re going to ask him why, and they’ll know he could hear, and—

Mortification paralyzes him. He doesn’t know which reality is worse. Listening to them hurts more than anything, and it’s _stupid,_ he knows, but he can’t help his damn heart. On the other hand, if they figure out he heard… he does _not_ want to have to talk about this!

Alright, plan B. Is there a plan B? He still has his laptop and some headphones. He can slip those on and just-

“Ngh- c’mon, Lew.” Vivi calls, and he can’t stop himself imagining it; she slides off, reaches over and guides Lewis’s hand. He sits up just enough to reach, stabilizes himself with an elbow as he follows her fingers down, down. He knows what she wants and how she wants it, his touch sliding against slick flesh, just on the edge of dipping in. She moans. She’s always noisy, but it’s the easiest thing in the world to tilt his head, and quiet her pleased mewling with a kiss.

_Nope. Nope nope nope._ Arthur can’t set up his laptop fast enough. He tears it out of his bag, slams it onto the mattress, and jams the power button with a shaky hand. He’s so unsteady, he has trouble just plugging his headphones into the jack. God _damn_ it. His heart aches, and honestly at this point, so does his dick.

He feels sick. He feels guilty, disgusting. They’re so _beautiful,_ and they’re so _not his_.

“Ah--! Sí, querida,” Lewis hisses, and Arthur manages to pull up the password screen. Shit, what’s his password? Because it’s certainly not the image burned in his mind’s eye: Lewis biting is own lip as Vivi manages to wrap her hand around him, her frame trembling as he presses into her, slides his thumb across—

“Hmm—,” she keens, and Arthur is surely going _mad_. His password, his password. God _damnit_ what’s his password!? He’s going to get into his laptop and remove every privacy control it could ever have, forever as soon as he remembers how. Holy _shit_.

His fingers remember what his brain can’t, and in an act of desperation and muscle memory, he’s into his own computer. He’s _shaking_ with want, but he can’t—won’t

“How’s that?” Lewis’s hushed voice, hurried breath between kisses. He’s got two fingers inside her, hooked just so, with his palm brushing against her in a way that makes her squirm. Vivi’s all tense muscle and quick, shuddering gasps. He has her right where he wants her, lost in the feeling. She has to keep reminding herself to keep rhythm, keep moving her own hand against his—

Arthur slams his headphones on hard enough to hurt, and loads his music client with desperation. He clicks play and doesn’t look which song is playing. It doesn’t matter. Anything is better than this kind of torture. He wants to not think. He wants to never think again. He’s hard as hell, and between the shame and the arousal he feels like he’s going to burn to nothing. He can stand it. He can _ignore_ it if he can just stop thinking. Just…

For a little while, the music works. He sinks back down into the welcoming mattress, unable to hear anything outside the pulsing in his headphones. And yeah, things are uncomfortable right now, but he’s slept through worse before. He just has to forget. Stop thinking. Stop.

He pulls the sheets up. His eyes slip closed. His breathing begins to even out. He’s so tired. He’d taken the wheel for a solid twelve-hour shift today. Lewis had offered to switch, but he’d been feeling too mixed up in his own mind to want that. He really is glad that they have each other. He loves how cute they are together, how they look at each other, but he—he just wants, sometimes, for them to look at him the same way. Maybe. Somehow.

The song changes, and in the breath between tunes he wills himself _not to hear_.

Blessed silence. He hears nothing.

Too bad that doesn’t seem to matter. The damage is done. He _knows_ what they’re doing and his thoughts don’t want to leave it alone. All it takes is a single, ever-so-slight tap—a vibration between the wall and the headboard. He feels it shake just _once¸_ and his careful calm slips away like water in his hands.

Holy _shit_ this isn’t fair.

Their image overwhelms his thoughts: Lewis’s hand clutching the headboard, straining to stop it from smacking into the wall as Vivi guides herself onto him. The muscles of Lew’s arm flex as she sinks down, and he struggles against the obscene moan that longs to escape. Vivi cuts the figure of a goddess, wild hair and flushed cheeks, the soft curve of her breast perfect against the cradle of his free hand.

Okay. Okay. This isn’t going away. Arthur’s burning up, his every nerve is electrified, he’s more embarrassed than he’s ever been his life, and he’s _so fucking hard_. Heart racing, he chances a glance at the bathroom door. It’s still mercifully shut. Presumably, Mystery has fallen asleep on the bathmat inside. He’s alone, with nothing but his own torturous imagination for company. So there’s no one there to see him when he gives in, and loosens the drawstring of his pants.

Arthur’s sure his face must be bright enough to glow in the dark. He can feel the heat of his own shame, rising from his neck to the tips of his ears. This is _so messed up_ , but if he doesn’t get some kind of relief he’s going to lose all trace of sanity.  They’re fantasies blazoned on his mind, everything he ever wanted—it’s okay to dream, right?

He leaves the headphones _on_. It’s not really voyeurism if he can’t hear them, even if he’s only continuing the scene from the place their quiet moans left off. There wasn’t much left to imagination in the way Lewis had been coaxing Vivi on before, but that’s not really Arthur's fault. He didn’t choose this. He didn’t overhear them on purpose, and he’ll keep ears closed to it now.

Even so, deep down, he knows it’s still not right. They’re his _best friends_. If they knew how he felt... Fuck, they’re his whole world in every way, even when it comes to this. They’re just so goddamn perfect. He can see it so easily: Vivi with her head tossed back, baring the pale column of her neck. Lewis’s fingers tangled in her blue locks, tugging just this side of hard enough. She rises and falls on her knees, takes pleasure in the broken edge of his shaking breath.

Arthur sighs in relief as he manages to free himself from his boxers. The fabric of his pants and underwear tangle around his thighs, restricting his movement, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already on edge, like he might tumble over it just _thinking_ about them. Every part of him is over-sensitized by want, and he can almost fool himself into believing that the sheet clinging to his back is a lover’s embrace. Almost.

At the first brush of his callused fingers against sensitive skin, the muscles of his abdomen tighten painfully. Lonely young man that he is, he’s gotten himself off enough times to be long used to the feeling. It’s just, somehow, knowing what they’re doing just next door—knowing that it’s Viv and Lewis—every sensation is newly overwhelming. He has to wait out the quivering of his own stomach, as nervous and awkward as if this were his first time all over again.

When he actually manages to wrap his hand around his dick, there’s a tremulous, shuddering groan caught in his throat. Arthur chokes it back as well as he can and presses his face against his pillow. _They_ might not know how thin these walls are, but _he_ does. And there is _no way_ they can ever know what he’s doing right now. Arthur stuffs as much of the makeshift gag as he dares into his mouth, bites down. Hard to breathe, but he’s not going to make a sound. He _refuses_.

The bed frame trembles again, a second thud against the wall that he can feel, vibrating from them to him. It’s _messed up_ , but the feeling lights his every nerve and leaves him trembling. He falls into his vision of them, watches them move to the tempo of his music. He’s all sound, buzzing in his head and his ears and throbbing through him. He’s out of his mind. When he finally manages to move, plying that delicious pressure, languid and slow, desperate friction between palm and shaft, he—he doesn’t really understand it.

He’s gone—lost in the dream of them.

Vivi doesn’t do anything by halves. She works and fights and loves passionately. He imagines her—all hot, open kisses, bruising grip, frantic motion. Lewis is no less enthusiastic, but he’s far gentler. He tempers her, takes her heat and lets it burn him, holds on to her for dear life, traces the outline of her hips, as if he could commit every inch of her to memory. Vivi takes and Lewis gives, gladly. Lewis is the one who laves quiet kisses down her neck and across her collar when she’s busy snaking a hand toward his pants. He’s never…watched them before, but Arthur _knows_ them, so he can picture as much.

He’d been listening to them for far too long, letting them shake him apart at the seams.  The music blocks them out, but it doesn’t stop his memory of their sounds, only gives him a soundtrack to set them to. It’s the easiest thing in the world to pick up where his imagination left off, with Vivi bearing down on Lewis. With the expression on his face as he tries not to lose himself in the feel of her.

Lew can’t ease his grip on the headboard, so he settles for tugging at her hip when he asks her wordlessly to slow down. They’re racing towards the blessed edge together, but she’s moving far too fast and he doesn’t want this to be over yet.

“Too much for you, hunh?” she leans forward to whisper against his lips. Her hands are everywhere, tracing the shell of his ear, the line of his shoulders. Vivi’s touch lights a trail of fire on his skin. He wants to call her name—tell her how much she makes him _feel_ —but there are others in this motel tonight, and he’s not interested in waking them. He bites his cheek instead, arches his back and rolls his hips up and into her. Viv never was as considerate as Lewis. She groans, long and keening, and he has to muffle her voice with his mouth. She likes to tease him, make him lose control, but he can give as good as he gets. Just a few more heated kisses, letting his lips speak for him without words. Just another few thrusts like that, the right angle and _so good_ —she’s nowhere near as cocky.

_Fuck_ , Arthur tries to curse, but the pillow saves him that embarrassment. There’s not quite enough room for his arm to move between his body and the bed, but that doesn’t matter. The music pulses heady and insistent in his ears, sets a rhythm somewhere between his shallow breaths, accelerated heartbeat, and the desperate motion of his hand on his dick. Do they feel like this, when they’re with each other? Like they’ll die if they stop. Like heavenly bodies spinning out of orbit. He’s flying apart, and all he has is the knowledge of them—the understanding that they’re losing it too, just on the other side of this wall. How much better does it feel when they're really there together—when they can reach out and feel each other's heat?

He thinks he feels the headboard vibrate with a regular rhythm, but he can’t tell the difference anymore between what’s real, the pulse of his music, and the stupid, wishful imaginings of his idiotic heart. His body doesn’t care. It feels real, and it sets him alight. God, just the thought of Lew losing that perfect composure, forgetting his own admonitions to be quiet… He must be a gorgeous sight, with his head thrown back—the smooth, tan skin of his chest flushed with red. He’s like something out of a fairytale, colorful hair splayed against the white of the pillows, his lips parted and kiss-bruised. He’s beautiful even as he falls apart. Does Vivi think to tell him? Does she pull his hand away from his blushing face, and say he shouldn't hide?

And she— _fuck_ , she’s maddening in all the right ways. The way her body moves on his, poetry in motion. Sweat sticks her hair to her temples in tiny curls and rivulets, and that smirk on her face is going to kill him. She’s so intense, so goddamn beautiful when she brushes one hand over the pink imprints of Lew’s fingerprints at her hip. Her gaze never leaves him. Does he tell her? Does he remember to worship her like the goddess she is when she sneaks her fingers into the space between them and brings herself off around him?

Do they realize how perfect it is, that they have each other?

Arthur muffles another involuntary whimper with the fluff of his pillow. He’s _so close_ , and real or imagined, the staccato of vibrations against his headboard are just as out of rhythm. Is this how Lewis feels, with her muscles fluttering around him, her moans stifled in his chest as he surges, tightens, _falls—_

_God, yes_ , there it is. Arthur’s whole body trembles as orgasm hits. Rushing, twisting, maddening, pleasure, racing through his veins. He bites hard into the pillow, and he can’t breathe but it’s s _o good_ , fuck, do they feel this too? Is it this good for them? Can he—

For just one moment, he forgets where he is. He forgets _who_ he is. There’s just this perfect feeling—this sense of falling apart alongside them. For just an instant, he fools himself into thinking that they know he’s here, that they _wanted_ him to hear, that they’re together.

It’s just an instant.

There are tears in his eyes when he comes down from the high of orgasm. He’d like to think that’s because it was so good, but there’s always been more to it than that.

Well... Well. Okay.

He lets the pillow fall, and pants for much needed air. He didn't know what he'd expected. He'd let himself reach too far and now he’s crashing down.

His music still thrums, suddenly loud and discordant in his ears. Arthur knocks the headphones off, and just breathes in the dark. Each gasp rings heavy in the placid silence. He just—he’s very tired now. He wants to forget. He wants to sleep, but there’s a mess in his hand and halfway up his stomach, so he—he rolls over and reaches for the tissues on the nightstand, cleans himself off best he can, and tosses the refuse in the bin.

It’s just so, frighteningly quiet—so silent that the sound is blaring. With his heart beat slowing and his breath gradually evening, he lays there in the dark and the still. He stares at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take him, but it doesn’t want to come. There are no further noises from the room next door, save Viv’s eventual soft snores. Mystery’s still shut away in the bathroom and he… he’s alone.

He’s alone.

 

 


End file.
